Seduction and Deduction
by Madame Cyanure
Summary: A mysterious text has led Janine to an old pub in the backstreets of London and into the path of a fairly recent acquaintance. Life will never be boring again. Sherline. Mild spoilers for Series 3. xx
1. Chapter 1

**Seduction and Deduction**

She was really toying with fate by being here. Her lunch break was at its tail end and she was still two blocks away from the office. Her boss was a vicious bastard; if she was late she would be fired, or worse. There were certain secrets which really couldn't be allowed to come to light, and he would make her beg. She was too proud, too stubborn to let that happen again. But Janine never could resist a mystery. There was always a chance that a snatch of gossip could be spun into an outrageous story. Which was why found herself in a dingy backstreet City pub, perched precariously upon an uneven barstool whilst she fiddled with her phone.

She was looking over a text which she had received the night before from an unknown number. Janine knew that she was probably chancing her safety by doing as it instructed, but she had mace in her handbag and more curiosity than she knew what to do with. She read the message again, quietly wondering why it had been sent to her.

_Janine; if you want to find out something interesting, head to the East India Arms at 1PM tomorrow. Don't be late._

There wasn't any hint of who it was from. At first she had suspected that it was spam, possibly from one of those crappy porn hotlines, but then after a second read she had realised that the message was too specific to her. Whoever had sent it had used deliberately cryptic wording, in full knowledge that Janine would turn up. Her usual sources were smart enough not to use any phone that she couldn't confirm the security of, and she hadn't been approached by anyone new. Janine sipped at her Bacardi and coke, thinking. It could have been Mary; she was always upgrading her mobile for no apparent reason and it wouldn't be the first time that she had forgot to mention that she had a new number. Janine hadn't seen her in an absolute age, not that she blamed Mary for wanting to break in a husband as lovely as John Watson instead. He was perfect for her fellow receptionist in a homely sort of way, although Janine didn't imagine that the sex was very inventive. Janine preferred her men a little more adventurous than Mary did.

There was a commotion as someone stumbled through the pub's double doors, startling her back to the present. The few other patrons littered around the pub glared at the newcomer as he dusted off his long coat and examined his dark hair in a pane of stained glass. Janine noted that there was something familiar about him; a theory confirmed when he turned so that the light fell tactfully upon his sharp features. The man acknowledged her presence at the bar with a smouldering half-smirk before returning his attention to his messy locks. Why on earth would _he_ show up here? The chances of any acquaintance of Janine's hanging around this specific part of London were minimal, which was why she had initially thought the location to be so promising. Perhaps her unknown number had turned up dead, or something. She wasn't going to let this slide, and tried to corner the guy before he could make a dash for the Gents.

'Fancy seeing you here, Mr Holmes! What brings you to this shithole?' Janine called out to him after she had taken a few hurried steps, ignoring an indignant glare from the barman. The nosy old bugger shouldn't have been listening in anyway. Her target froze, looking for all the world like he had been caught in the act of doing something completely Machiavellian, but was still undeniably nonchalant about it. Janine straightened her skirt before using his pause to close the gap.

'Call me Sherlock, Janine. After being forced into matching formal attire for the sake of one couple's happiness, I believe that we are entitled to address each other on a first name basis.'

'Fine.' She replied, idly perusing his tailored inside leg as she teased. In spite of his reputation for being difficult company, Janine couldn't deny that she found Sherlock attractive on some level. 'What brings you to this shithole, _Sherl_?'

Sherlock twitched petulantly at Janine's blatant irreverence towards his forename. She had found a pet peeve, Janine guessed, and filed it away for later in case she should ever need to use it. That was the thing about the media; it was always the little details which gave you the upper hand.

'I could ask you the same.'

'I'm meeting some friends for a drink.'

'No.'

'Excuse me?'

'I said no. You wouldn't dare to meet with _"friends" _in an establishment as dilapidated as this.'

'Well, maybe I like it. Maybe I think it's quaint.' She sipped her drink, feeling mildly defensive.

'You really don't.' Sherlock was actually laughing at her. 'Judging by your jewellery, you prefer to socialise in the ear-splitting and translucent bars of the West End. And then there is your choice of clothing; aside from the fairly obvious end-of-line business-wear, the heel on your shoes is too high to be comfortable, yet too low to be showy. Ergo, this is work-related and you are waiting for your next big money-spinning tattler to arrive.'

Janine wondered if he always looked this smug after telling people what they already knew about themselves. Between this and the wedding, in which he had told Janine that she was ugly before apologising by finding her a one-night stand and preventing a murder, it was looking pretty certain that he did.

'In fairness my source could be a friend. I haven't met them yet. Besides, how did you know what my job is?'

'It is as plain as day.' Sherlock deadpanned, as if he had been counting down the seconds until Janine would ask. She would have responded sooner, but had taken some time out to marvel at his cheekbones before her mouth got the message.

'Fire away then, Mr Holmes; tell me what I already know. A girl can't afford to be too transparent and you're clearly completely gagging for it.' She emphasised the last four words, hoping that Sherlock would notice her subtext. There was no indication that he had. Clever guys rarely picked up on that sort of thing; much less notice the likes of Janine. It had been a very long shot anyway, given who he was.

'A person's opacity is never the problem; I would have worked it out even if you did not insist upon wearing your personality as armour.' Sherlock stated flatly, their eyes locking as Janine heard him snatch the sharpest of breaths. 'You are clearly an office worker judging by the indents present on the inside of your wrists; a result of several hours' worth of typing reports with little or no breaks. Returning to your clothing, your skirt has been deliberately shortened and the bustline of the blouse is far too tight. Most companies would object to such things but the fact that the outfit is more than three months old indicates that you are still employed and in an industry in which it is difficult to progress without abusing the power of creativity. This leaves one of two trades, with your lipstick ruling out the financial sector; the inappropriately named shade of Subtle Siren reflects your outspoken personality and desire for excitement. The media, then. Your immaculate attention to detail in matching your necklace with your handbag tells me that you trained as a journalist yet now work front-of-house as a Personal Assistant or receptionist. You lack the harassed frown lines of a general receptionist and the obsessively coiffured hair alludes to frequent contact with the board of directors; a personal assistant to one of the top table. Your posture and use of colloquialisms are extremely suggestive of ambition, which leads me to conclude that you belong to one of two powerhouses. Magnussen or Murdoch?'

'Murdoch wishes that I worked for him.' Janine snorted in amused awe, imagining the mogul's disgust at her choosing Magnussen. If choice was what you could call it. Remembering that she had abandoned her handbag, Janine beckoned Sherlock to follow her to the bar; he took to her silent request with unprecedented grace. 'I leak the juicy stuff to The Sun every time my pay packet falls short.'

'A dangerous game if there ever was one, although I don't believe that your employer suspects.'

'What do you care? And from what I've heard, you'd be a hypocrite if you did.' Janine pointed out. She saw Sherlock give an almost imperceptible shrug, conceding. 'Anyway, if you're going to show off, it's your turn to tell me why you're here.'

'I am working. The Met called me in to provide answers as to a particularly gruesome triple homicide. Lestrade has finally started to admit what I had long ago concluded; that his department's detective skills are almost non-existent.'

'Really?' Suicide was more common than murder in this part of the city, or so Janine had heard from the chatter in the office. 'Care to share some of the details? I'm guessing that you've already solved it.'

'Of course, but given that we have established your incredibly opportunistic nature; you can have precisely three details. The police do tend to whinge when the tabloids compromise their precious evidence.'

'Go on then.' It was annoying that Sherlock knew Janine so well, having only met her twice. With any other man, it would have meant that they could have skipped the chat up lines and jumped straight to the main event. Trust her to have picked one who seemed so highly strung.

'A banker was found dead in the company of twin prostitutes in the basement of Canary Wharf. A certain appendage of his had been messily hacked off.'

By Sherlock's manly wince, Janine could guess which "appendage" he was referring to.

'Ouch. Was it a statement killing?'

'Possibly. If a man leaves his home within the next half hour, then we have our perpetrator. Hence I am waiting him out in here.'

'And the stumbling through the front door?'

'I told the cabbie that his wife was cheating on him. My dramatic entrance was entirely his doing.'

'Oh, right. Do you want a drink or something then?'

'No. I'm working; substances slow me down.'

'Fair enough; more for me. Although it looks weird that you've wandered into a pub without ordering anything.'

Janine ordered herself another drink whilst Sherlock sat in silence, apparently studying her. Unfortunately this meant that when he finally did speak, he broached a subject which Janine had been hoping to avoid entirely.

'I am sorry that the sex was disappointing. I had hoped that you would get more enjoyment out of our mutual sci-fi and comic geek.'

Well that was just fabulous; he could read her sex life. Her post-reception catch hadn't technically been catastrophically disappointing, just a little too eager to last as long as Janine would have liked. At least it was only Sherlock who knew and not everyone else. After all, _he'd _picked him. Janine had been talking to a mousy woman at the wedding who had described Sherlock Holmes as being as brilliant as he was harsh; which was very. She couldn't remember the woman's name, only that she had uttered the statement with a kind of timid reverence and turned up to the reception with the "meat-dagger" bloke. Talking to Sherlock now, Janine felt that the woman had had more than a bit of a point. He had been blunt, but she wasn't going to question how he knew that it hadn't been the greatest shag of her life.

'Well, you would know, wouldn't you?' She replied sarcastically, holding up her hand to silence him before he could announce the explicit details to the rest of the bar. Janine didn't want the detective to tell everyone that it was so crap that she had been thinking about someone else by the end. Moreover, she didn't want Sherlock to guess exactly who she had orgasmed to. 'Thanks for picking him, by the way.'

'I apologise, although in fairness I was a little preoccupied at the time. Potential homicide at my best friend's wedding, and such.'

'Fine; I forgive you. Besides, I kind of enjoyed the tail end of your dysfunctional little speech once I'd worked out what was really going on.'

'You knew? Then why didn't you say something?' He was gazing at her with something like astonishment, as if he couldn't fathom another human being having even five percent of his brainpower. Janine had known that Sholto was going to get got as soon as Sherlock had mentioned something about confidentiality agreements.

'The world can't be dealing with a PA who's got more than a few brain cells, Sherl. Imagine what my boss could do with that little fact.' She laughed, brushing off both her intelligence and the dangers of crossing her employer.

'I have been told that brainy is indeed the new sexy. Let some of that intelligence out and others might start worshipping at your feet.'

Wait, was that a come-on? It couldn't have been.

'What, like they do for you?'

'John broke my nose and Lestrade locked me in a cell the last time I drew their attention to it. It was a particularly tedious Tuesday.' Sherlock paused, seemingly hesitant as he leaned towards her and dropped to a stage-whisper. 'I may have failed, but this may be because I am not a marginally attractive mid-thirties female.'

'Marginally attractive? Jesus, you're _such_ a charmer, Sherlock!'

'I may have phrased that last part incorrectly. Sentiment has always been a difficult subject.' Sherlock brushed a strand of hair away from Janine's nose, his index finger ghosting across her skin. 'Perhaps this will clarify my meaning.'

And then he kissed her. It was soft, cautious; as if Sherlock was silently asking for her permission and oh boy, did he have it. Janine still felt incredibly confused but, after a few hormones were kicked about and a million tiny impulses finally reached the right nerve endings, she began to kiss back. Sherlock must have realised that she was enjoying it, because it evolved into something else entirely. Not quite seductive; not quite reverent. Janine's hands snaked beneath his expensive jacket, and she drew him closer. They settled upon the warm small of his back, remaining there even after he broke for air. Janine gazed up at Sherlock, happily puzzled at both the lack of snogging and the fact that it had happened in the first place.

'Aside from the general sense of "wow";' And it really was a bit of a knockout feeling. Janine realised that she should probably loosen her grip on his waist. She couldn't have him thinking that she was too easy. 'how did you know that I wouldn't kick you in the balls and tell you to piss off?'

'I am used to noticing signs of attraction in women; you have displayed several of these during the course of our short conversation. I felt that my chances were considerably good.'

'Well you don't have to be so bloody smug about it!' Janine pouted playfully. If anything, she was the one who should have been complacent, but the fact that she had just locked lips with Sherlock Holmes hadn't sunk in far enough for that just yet. 'Anyway, I thought you didn't, well, go in for this sort of thing?'

'A substantial misconception. Don't believe everything which you read in the papers.'

Janine sniggered, remembering why she was here in the first place. 'Amen to that.'

The atmosphere between them descended into a lull and, for her part, it was because Janine was busy replaying and fantasising over what had just happened. Her hand was subconsciously trailing towards the top of Sherlock's thigh, cheekily hoping that he would take the hint. The moment was only mildly spoilt when Sherlock gently lifted her arm away.

'I have to go. My rat will be coming out of his den in precisely eight minutes and fifty-three seconds.' He stood up, sliding off the stool towards her. They were close enough that they were sharing the same air.

'I should probably go too. My source hasn't turned up and I'm supposed to be back up on the top floor in five.' Janine mirrored the action, brushing against him as she turned to reach for her handbag. 'But that was, um, _nice_.'

'I should hope so.' Sherlock smirked back at her.

For a moment, it looked as though he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he side-stepped away from the bar, silently gesturing that she should lead the way to the exit. Janine obeyed, still slightly in awe of this surprising improvement to her lunch break and subtly appraising Sherlock's suave form from over her shoulder. He followed at a respectable distance, probably in full acknowledgement that she was giving him the once-over. Janine waited for him once she was outside, the wind lashing at her face. The quiet between them was masked by the whirr of nearby traffic. Personally, she was trying to prolong the moment before the two of them were forced to go their separate ways. Sherlock just seemed agitated and sheepish, eventually breaking the silence with a peck on Janine's cheek.

'Text me, Janine. I would really enjoy that.'

His demeanour was the perfect combination of boyish discomfort and unconventional manly charm. It didn't fit the rest of London's impression of him but, what with the long coat fanning as he turned away from her, it was quite attractive.

'I'm going to need your number.' Janine called after him, watching Sherlock accelerate into a sprint as he headed into the nearest alley. His hasty reply echoed in her ears.

'You already have it.'

Janine smiled as she looked down at her phone, turning it over in her hand as the realisation dawned upon her. That mysterious text was still flashing up on the display. Oh, Sherlock Holmes was a devious bastard. He would definitely be hearing from her sometime soon.

_**You can thank AISH1996 for the publishing of this particular fic – any single review containing three requests for more Sherlock/Janine over on "Bees" is enough to make me reshuffle my writing priorities! This is a multichapter story, as demanded. I plan to update every two weeks due to having to intersperse it with another new Sherlock story I'm working on and the inconvenience of real life. The first chapter is just the warm-up and the second is currently a work in progress, but whether any more appear online is entirely dependent on what people think. Reviews are adored. :) MC. xx**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Seduction and Deduction: Part Two**

Janine hovered upon the raised concrete doorstep, her nose inches away from the neglected, battered black door. She wished that someone would hurry up and answer; the wind kept whipping up her skirt so that she was literally freezing her arse off. If Sherlock had shot the doorbell again, it was his problem, but she would damn well buy him an intercom if he kept her waiting much longer. After only a few visits to 221B, she had become intimately familiar with the brass knocker and the steadfast devotion which the building's occupants gave to ignoring it. The lock may well have been bashed in, but Janine liked to think that at least one person in this bizarre situation knew something of social etiquette. However, following twenty icy minutes of nothing except Sherlock's voicemail for company, she couldn't decide whether to kick off or leave.

This thing with Sherlock, whatever it was, had been playing out like this for the best part of three weeks. Frankly, Janine would have been pissed off if only she weren't still a little confused over how the hell their "thing" was happening in the first place. Ultimately, their time together had been surprisingly nice; her only qualm was that it somehow didn't quite sit right. When they'd first met, Sherlock had seemed like the best-looking asexual in the Universe, showing no interest in Janine or most other human beings, aside from making a tit of himself by flashing a pirouette. In hindsight, the dancing may have been the most ludicrous come-on that a man could muster. Now that Janine was through the looking-glass, she was seeing things differently. He'd been nothing but a gentleman in private, but in public he was an absolute arse who turned every minuscule situation to his advantage. On one level it was fascinatingly sexy to watch Sherlock command a room; on another, it was as if he was hiding their connection from the rest of the world. His unpredictability meant that she didn't know if she was in this for the long haul, and so it was bloody hard work for Janine to get anywhere with Mr Holmes. Baby steps it was, then. Ironic really, seeing as he had started it. Sherlock was unlike any other guy she had been involved with, in that she knew that she couldn't just jump him and hope for the best. Characteristic detachment aside, Janine had seen first-hand that he could play the rest of mankind like Prince Charming's dirty, underhand younger brother. Under a layer of suspicious happiness, Janine felt justified in her unease. In no way was she going allow herself to be trampled underfoot. She wanted Sherlock badly enough to let the situation pan out, but any hint that he was leading her on and she would make Kitty Riley's crucifixion look like a marshmallow bouncy castle.

Today's visit was unannounced; it was time to drag their little alliance firmly back onto her terms. Janine had intended for it to be a surprise, although surprises generally only worked if someone was around to see them. The alternative seemed a tad humiliating, and admitting defeat wasn't Janine's style. However right now she felt like a teenager, shivering in the cold as she waited for someone to collect her from the threshold; a notion which only intensified when Mrs Hudson finally decided to let her in.

'Jesus! About bloody time.' Janine muttered before offering the elder lady a tolerant smile. 'Hello, Mrs Hudson. Is Sherlock home?'

Janine knew that her lightly mocking tone would be lost on the erstwhile busybody, because anyone who received a daily dose of rent and hassle from Sherlock Holmes must have some tolerance of that kind of acid. Instead, Mrs Hudson flapped around Janine warmly, ushering her inside with a stream of hugs and babbling good will.

'Janine! How lovely to see you, sweetheart! Sherlock didn't tell me you were coming today – not that he tells me anything, mind. But you would know all about that, wouldn't you?'

The small and smartly dressed woman eyed her sweetly, obviously fishing for details in a way that was all too familiar to Janine. The first time that she had met Mrs Hudson properly, it had been assumed that Janine was a client; she had allowed her to go freely into Sherlock's flat like some doddery old secretary. The second time had been completely different. The landlady had caught on the moment Janine had shrugged out of her coat to reveal a black mini-dress. Mrs Hudson had commented that it was "wonderful that both her boys finally found nice girls"; a thoroughly caring statement which had prompted Janine to question whether Mrs Hudson was actually Sherlock's mother. The next hour had been a disorganised assortment of denial and "I may as well be". It had been a polite enough conversation, but Janine was fast acquainting herself with the art of tuning out and not asking questions. Sighing, she cut to the chase.

'Is Sherlock out?'

'No, no Janine. He's upstairs with a gentleman; looked like client but I can never tell. Rugged sort of fellow, with a beard.'

'Thanks; I'll just go and interrupt then, shall I? It's not like he'll care.'

'Oh, okay then, dear. Call me if you two need anything. I'm not his housekeeper, but….'

Sherlock's baritone echoed down the stairs, followed by a sharp crack. Keen to escape Mrs Hudson's fussing, Janine followed it, scrambling up the steps. Even for a professional gossip, there was only so much a girl could handle and the landlady was far from the person she wanted to see. She cursed the height of her heels – the ones which she secretly called her "pulling shoes" – for slowing her down. The sounds drifting into Janine's ears resembled something of a bizarre monologue.

'Really, Mr Williamson? You have nothing to say?'

Another smack. Janine crept up another stair, curious. Whoever Sherlock was talking to, it wasn't a client. From her limited experience with the detective, he usually only made those kind of people cry. This current bout of abuse seemed strictly non-verbal.

'Just one scrap of information could help it to end. As much as I hate pandering to my brother's wishes, I really could keep this up for so much longer. An eternity, if you wish.'

A dull thud was swiftly followed by a muffled grunt. In spite of her position on the landing, Janine still couldn't see the exchange between Sherlock and his guest. She didn't hesitate for a moment; releasing her grip on the doorframe and marching into the living room. Sod curiosity and its cat.

'So devout in our silence, aren't we? If you are afraid of your masters, then think again. I already know everything about their little scheme; you would simply be confirming my deductions. This is what they call the soft option, after which I hand you over to the dubious care of the British Secret Service. I require your answer. The blink of an eyelid will do.'

The safety mechanism clicked off a gun as Janine barrelled into the flat. Everything became crystal clear when she was treated to the somewhat disarming scene. There were two people taking centre stage; one seated on the battered dining chair, and the other standing. Sherlock was exactly the same as the last time Janine had saw him; aloof, impossibly well-tailored, and covering up any hint of exhilaration with a cold mask of disinterest. The only difference was that this time he was jabbing a weapon at someone's skull. His potential victim was a skinny balding man, probably in his late fifties, who had already sustained several facial injuries. There was a footprint upon his chest and gaffa tape across his mouth. Judging by the man's mildly surprised expression, Janine guessed that he would object to adding a gunshot wound to his list. The whole thing felt a little like walking in on her parents having sex; horrific, vexing, and a general uncertainty of if she should look away. Janine stood her ground. It was exciting to watch Sherlock Holmes at work, if not anything else.

'Sherl, what the h–?' She began.

Sherlock cut off the rest of her sentence with a dismissive palm. Janine tried to ignore a minor twinge of annoyance at the fact that he had barely acknowledged her presence. The current interrogation notwithstanding, it wouldn't do for her to start attention-seeking this early on. She couldn't stand clingy women and had no intention of becoming one.

Sherlock's prisoner made an uncomfortable sound which vaguely resembled the words "go to Hell". Janine fell silent; in part waiting for Sherlock to continue his interrogation, whilst the rest of her was formulating potential headlines.

'I don't object to witnesses; it simplifies the court case.' Sherlock told the man, removing the gun from his temple to reveal a reddened pressure mark. Janine watched, treading the uncomfortable line between disturbed and a little aroused as Sherlock prowled around the chair; his eyes never leaving its occupant. 'Of course, this also means that we could end this. I could shoot you now without a second thought, but I would rather not do so in front of my girlfriend.'

All thoughts of newsprint stalled to a halt. _Hang on._ Janine replayed Sherlock's last sentence over in her mind. She definitely hadn't misheard him, but seriously? Well, _someone_ was jumping to conclusions, even if Janine wasn't sure which of the two of them that someone was. It was the same "what the fuck?" moment she had experienced when he had lured her out of the office during the other week. Janine was having a lot of those lately.

'What?'

'Shut up, Janine. I'm working.' Sherlock snapped back at her; Janine glared half-heartedly. 'So Mr Williamson, what will it be?'

The gaffa tape muffled Mr Williamson's response, but it sounded remarkably similar to the word "hunt". Sherlock's gaze momentarily locked with Janine's before he rolled his eyes, most likely towards the man's predictability. Janine relaxed against the wall, waiting. The gun was dragged slowly across Mr Williamson's jawline. The safety was reset. Eyes widened in relief. Then Sherlock pistol-whipped the man into unconsciousness. He examined his captive before returning to Janine. Sherlock planted a chaste but welcome kiss on her lips before answering her unspoken question.

'Bored.'

Five minutes later, and the man had been hog-tied in Sherlock's bedroom with a post-it note and present bow slapped upon his forehead. Janine was beginning to wonder what the note said when Sherlock re-emerged, idly brushing non-existent dust from his suit.

'Apologies for that. I was asked to investigate information regarding another terrorist cell; they seem to be cropping up more frequently than children's treehouses. He was one of a very sloppy inner circle.'

'You called me your girlfriend.'

It was a statement, not a question. Janine would force an answer either way. Sherlock looked up from pretending to examine a speck of dust on his laptop, snapping to attention. Who said that he was the only one who could command a room?

'What? Are you not remotely bothered by the extremist currently occupying my bedroom?'

'On a professional level, yes, but I'm not at work. _Girlfriend_. Your use of that word, in the context of _me_.'

'Isn't it what this is?'

'I don't know; I haven't decided yet. Most people tend to wait until they've shagged a couple of times before they start throwing that term around.' She pointed out; they were currently as far away from that end of the spectrum as physically possible. Janine hoped that if she teased him enough, Sherlock would take the hint. She wasn't quite ready to drop her knickers for him just yet, but was willing to put at least half of her cards on the table for a gentle nudge in that direction. 'Plus you haven't got Facebook, so there is no way we can make it official.'

'Oh.' The playful sarcasm had apparently passed him by; far from the desired effect, Sherlock appeared incredibly confused. Janine didn't feel guilty or the need to explain, but the turn of the conversation had revealed something painfully clear.

'Hang on; is this the first time you've done this sort of thing?'

'Seduction tended to undermine the work.'

'And I….'

'Fit in with the work.' Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed. It was damn right that he should.

'Meaning that every one of our "dates" so far has involved some element of crime-solving. I'm not a substitute for John, Sherlock, whatever this is. Just because your best friend happens to have another job doesn't mean that I'm going to try out to be your biographer. I'm auditioning for something else entirely.' She slipped closer to Sherlock; one hand creeping towards his arse whilst the other raked through the tangled mess of his hair. With anyone else it could have been seen as an invasion of personal space, but as far as Janine was concerned he had lost the right to complain the moment he had started snogging her in that seedy little bar. 'Which brings me to why I am here. You're taking me out for dinner.'

'I am?' Sherlock seemed taken aback by Janine's demand, batting her hand away from his locks as he gazed longingly at the case notes littering his bullet-riddled wall. Janine had yet to ask the story behind that one; about one percent of her didn't want to know. Either way, she wasn't going to be shunted aside for the criminals of London.

'Yes, Sherl; you are.' She sweetened her bluntness with a smile; like a sugar-coated rock. It was the same technique that she used when she wanted a pay-rise. 'I've booked a reservation at a place a couple of streets around the corner. It's not to my usual, _apparently_ expensive taste but it'll do for a proper first date.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Well don't eat anything then! It's all under your name and I'll have the decency to look surprised if you want, but we are going.'

'And my terrorist?'

'Leave your toy in your room; it looks as though he's out for the count anyway. You've obviously called someone, so give him to them to play with.'

Janine stepped back and watched the cogs of Sherlock's mind whirr; it was quite entertaining, really. His pupils were frantically flickering in every direction, obviously hunting for an excuse, but Janine had ultimately won. Her skillset included an uncanny ability to convince men to give her the upper hand, whether they were a consulting detective or not. Janine had claimed victory the moment that Sherlock had fallen silent for more than thirty seconds. Now it was just a question of waiting for him to admit it.

'Dinner?' Sherlock's tone bordered along guarded, which only added to Janine's personal satisfaction. She might have just tamed the untameable.

'I'd love to. Get your coat.'

**I've chopped this chapter in two because it was becoming a sprawling mess of a thing, and nobody wants that. Dinner comes in two weeks' time, with much more dialogue. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far; I am completely flattered. Just remember that I'm no Moffat/Gatiss! Opinions, reviews and the like are still very much adored. :) MC. xx **


	3. Chapter 3

**Seduction and Deduction: Part Three**

'Eat it.'

'No.'

'Come on Sherlock, it won't kill you. At least try it.'

'Why?'

'Because that's what normal people do when they go out on dates.'

'Earlier on this evening you were content to watch a man being beaten at gunpoint and chose not to telephone the Police in favour of satisfying your own mild arousal. Any suggestion of normality voiced by you is therefore a moot point. Even if it were not, this certainly should not constitute _normal_.'

Janine slumped back into her chair, thoroughly peeved. The atmosphere was noisy, the service was lousy and the company couldn't be less cooperative if he tried. Her idyllic "first date" scenario had lasted only until they had reached the restaurant; at which point Sherlock had opened his mouth and started bitching. Honestly, she was surprised that they hadn't been thrown out within the first five minutes of stepping through the door. Sherlock had initially obliged Janine by taking her coat and giving his name for the reservation list; an illusion that had been immediately shattered when they were forced to find their own table because Sherlock had told the maître d' that he would die from an untreated blood clot in precisely two weeks. By the time that Janine was seated – pulling out her own chair, thank you very much – he was bemoaning her unimaginative choice of chain dining as opposed to a little place that he knew of on Paddington Street, which incidentally had previously been owned by a serial killer.

Janine had then been forced to order Sherlock's meal as well as her own, since he flat-out refused to do it himself, and had waited for dinner to be served in near silence because she had forbidden Sherlock from talking about crime during the walk over. She didn't know what she had expected to gain by dragging Sherlock here, but her imagination had offered her something infinitely juicier than this. As it was, the man had just turn down the chance to sample something from Janine's offered fork. Not because he didn't like what was on it, but because he couldn't see the point of doing so. She was on a date with a child. A freakishly intelligent and obscurely handsome one, but still a child.

'Can I just point out that you were the one doing the beating?' Janine shot back, stabbing viciously at the remainder of her steak. 'I was an innocent bystander. Out of the two of us, I'd say that you're the one who's fucked up.'

'You're upset with me.' Sherlock cocked his head to one side, blatantly analysing her. Janine glowered gently at him; pleased that Sherlock had finally caught on. It was progress, at least.

'_Really_, how could you tell? No; wait. Don't answer that.' Janine raised her hands to halt his open mouth. It was easy to forget that sarcasm was lost on Sherlock. As a result of Janine's intervention, the response which came from those thin, gifted lips was considerably shorter than it could have been.

'I don't understand; I came here at your request, abandoned my work mid-case, and was intending to pay the bill. How am I at fault?'

'You know, for a genius you are remarkably stupid. I know that this isn't your thing, because we always do your thing, but you could at least pretend to be enjoying yourself.'

'I'm not a genius, Janine. The rest of the world is simply populated by idiots. And I will start to enjoy myself when the atmosphere ceases to be a mind-numbing blend of hostile and pedestrian.'

'Well then, Mr Ordinary; perk me up before pudding and it just might.' She graced him with a small smile. Janine might as well let Sherlock know that he could redeem himself; that way the two of them might actually get somewhere remotely erotic. She gestured to a tall, Hispanic man who was fiddling with a champagne cork at the business end of the bar. 'Tell me why I should be going home with you instead of our handsome, recently single waiter.'

'You noticed?'

'You forget that I'm smarter than the average bear, Sherlock. It's one of my womanly powers.'

'Ah; apologies. Your chosen career path does make an excellent cover story.'

The waiter in question hurried over; clearing Janine's empty plate along with Sherlock's full one. He returned a few seconds later to thrust dog-eared dessert menus under their noses. Janine watched Sherlock's eyes rove across the other man's physique, silently tearing him apart. She was amazed that Sherlock didn't comment aloud, although perhaps he was holding back only to secure her approval. Janine kept the waiter on hand whilst she dithered with her order; it was the perfect combination of teasing and helping Sherlock to get what he needed.

'Go on; tell me all about him. I know you'll have fun.' She said once the server had finally vanished from their table. Janine watched her date's nostrils flare as Sherlock sucked in his customary intake of breath and sat back, waiting. Never mind him; _she_ was going to enjoy this.

'No.' The smile which Sherlock flashed her was catlike.

'What do you mean, _"no"_?'

'Whilst each of us would find the experience equally satisfying, there are far easier ways for me to give you pleasure.'

'Are you coming onto me?' Janine bloody hoped so; it would definitely cancel out the rest of the evening. Not that Sherlock actually needed to seduce her, but it was nice all the same. She leaned forward in anticipation, resting her elbows upon the table and accentuating her bust.

'You of all people should know that nothing is ever as simple. Moreover, you already know the answers to your own question, or else you would not ask, and I do not deduce upon command.'

His smile lingered for just a second too long, flirting with both Janine and danger. Forget her previous train of thought; Sherlock was definitely not earning himself many redemption points.

'Spoilsport.'

Janine poked her tongue playfully in Sherlock's direction, silently conceding. Whilst she did have a reasonable idea why the waiter was oh-so-recently available – he reeked of it, both metaphorically and physically – her sleuthing skills were more of the nosy neighbour vein than those of a high-class detective. It was just possible that Sherlock was trying to rescue her pride and vanity; traits which made the two of them equals. Janine snatched at that notion and pretended that Sherlock was actually intent upon saving her bratty little damsel in distress. Some part of her realised that he was still talking, and she snapped back to attention.

'However, what I will tell you is this: There is a cork on our table in spite of the fact that we have not ordered a bottle of wine for the entire night. Turn it over and you will find his mobile number written along the length; clearly he is extremely attracted to you. No man would spend any length of time inscribing digits onto such a difficult and subtle object if he was not overly keen to gain your attention. From his sympathetic body language, he has concluded that our date is going just as badly as his own last romantic encounter and is therefore inviting you to engage in mutually gratifying sex to make up for our lack of proceedings.'

Janine had come to know that it was at this point in the conversation when Sherlock generally became very pleased with himself. She had even started to get off on his post-deduction face herself. This time, however, he looked uncomfortably impassive.

'I was hoping that you'd noticed the number. Jealous?'

'It was hardly a difficult leap. And your waiter friend is displaying signs of having a rather small penis, hence wouldn't be of much use to you.'

'You made that up!' Janine laughed. 'You are blatantly jealous.'

'Actually, I didn't; it was merely one more deduction than I was expecting, albeit a rather useful one. However I have no need of jealousy, as I can be certain that you will continue to remain in my company.'

'Is that so?'

'Completely.'

The confidence behind the last statement didn't falter, at least outwardly. When Sherlock leant underneath the table to grab something from his coat pocket, Janine felt his hand brush against her thigh; firmly settling itself near the hem of her short skirt. Somewhat conspicuously, she didn't find out what was in the pocket, due to it never actually appearing. So,_ he was jealous_. Janine felt flattered enough to almost let him off the hook and wiggled over to Sherlock's side of the booth, leaning into his touch. Their physical contact only increased when dessert arrived; Sherlock appeared to have noticed that her sly smile was directed towards someone else, and lured Janine into a showboating snog. The poor waiter didn't know what had hit him.

When the poor bastard had scurried away, Janine pushed Sherlock off; it wasn't his best kiss, but had very much clarified where he stood on the matter. Only now did Janine notice that he was flaunting that post-deduction smugness. As tempting as the view was, she decided to wipe it off his face. Possessive men were a risky business, meaning that it was time for the discussion to segue.

'So, you've got a brother?'

'What? How is that relevant?'

'Well, I figured that if I'm going to be stuck in a relationship with a possessive and moody detective, I may as well do some digging. It's a little thing called small talk, Sherl.'

'Tried that once; I didn't like it.'

'Try it again. It's a date, so I'm allowed to be nosy.'

'Do you ever switch off, Janine?' A silent laugh rattled through his body.

'Don't be a hypocrite. And don't even think about denying that you've got a brother. I could hear you using him as a threat from the stairs. Is he as much of a clever bastard as you are?'

'I am certain that my parents were married when I was conceived. As for Mycroft, your statement may be truthful.'

'Your brother's name is Mike? And I'm guessing he's older than you.'

'Unfortunately he has never been the most caring of elder siblings, but his name is _Mycroft_. Not unlike many of our mother's attempts to shorten his name, I am positive that he would view your alternative as unbearable.'

'Like when I call you "Sherl"?'

'In a way; yes. Janine, I allow you to abuse my name because I am yet to find a suitable way to stop you from doing so. It's a work in progress. Mycroft, on the other hand, has every one of the United Kingdom's shadier assets at his disposal. Should he catch wind of our conversation, you would be playing with fire.' Sherlock idly flicked the decorative mint leaf from Janine's cheesecake, apparently offended by it.

'He sounds a tiny bit prissy, Sherl; I won't call him Mike, then. Let's not get killed.'

'No, please continue. I paid off all of his usual employees for tonight and there is nothing quite as attractive as a woman with the ability to leave Mycroft squirming, girlfriend mine.'

'You know that you are a sadistic, egotistical bastard, right?' Janine grinned. 'And if you're going to start slinging that word around, you could at least do it in the right context. Preferably not involving a big brother with a stupid name. Your pick-up lines are still appalling.'

'And yet here you are blushing, implying that you find any sound passing through my lips to be highly appealing, if not attractive. I would thereby argue that my romantic conversation is faultless.'

They were talented lips and their flippant mention was enough to make Janine want them all to herself, but Sherlock already thought the world of himself. Playing coy would avoid adding fuel to the ridiculously massive fire. She also happened to be a little bored of the prolonged, civilised dining.

'Firstly; it's hot in here. And secondly; shut up. Now, are you going to keep mauling my dessert or are you going to walk me home?'

'There isn't much of this mediocre cheesecake left, thanks to you, so it would be prudent to leave. And walking you home is a completely illogical concept.'

'And they say romance is dead. Calling me fat and refusing to see me to my door isn't very gentlemanly, Sherlock.'

'I never claimed to be any such thing. Your door is just south of Westminster; approximately two-point-seven miles away. Baker Street is less than eight hundred metres from this establishment and would be a more logical destination.'

'_You_ want to be walked home?' Two could play at that game. 'That set-up would be completely pointless for me. Now be quiet, chuck some money on the table and book us a cab.'

'I am merely evaluating your warped ideas of courtship, Janine; not expressing a childish desire for safety in numbers. And you would have difficulties in hailing a taxi at this hour.'

'Fine; we'll have to compromise then. Walk me to the Tube?'

Sherlock stood abruptly, offering Janine his arm as she watched him deliver a flurry of notes to the table, sans tip.

'Done.'

Sherlock led her gently by the hand from the restaurant and out into the warm August night. The underground station was less than three minutes' walk away and Janine spent the majority of the journey happily formulating ways to drag Sherlock over to her side of town. It would be nice to finally spend some time with him in an atmosphere which didn't consist of rotting body parts, chemicals and criminology. The other part of her brain was mulling over why the floppy-haired idiot hadn't removed his coat in the summer heat. Or his jacket. Or his shirt. Given the sharpness of Sherlock's eyes in the moonlight and the well-established fact that he could read Janine faster than she could spot the lies in Heat Magazine, Christ knows what he was thinking by the time they had reached the deserted station steps. Janine dragged Sherlock underneath the luminescent "Baker Street" Tube sign; hoping to garner a slither of light in the otherwise darkened street.

'So, here we are. You can still get the train with me if you've changed your mind.' She forced the words to sound as sexy as possible, and felt utterly stupid for doing so.

'For what is essentially a floundering ploy to manipulate me into entering your flat; I don't think so.'

Damn. Janine eyed Sherlock carefully, their slight height difference niggling at her subconscious.

'You really like to think that you're the one driving this thing, don't you Sherl?'

She was taken by surprise as he leant down, cheek brushing lightly against hers. A comfortable tingling sprung to life in Janine's pelvis as Sherlock masterfully purred into her ear.

'I don't _think_ anything, Janine. I _am_ in control.'

He swooped away without kissing her goodbye, but the tingling remained. Jesus. Tonight had been an emotional workout and she was beginning to re-evaluate her evening's work. Not only was Janine dating a child, but she had begun a relationship with a professional tease. Well played, Sherlock, Janine mused as she sprinted into the station; well fucking played.

She had one clever boyfriend and it was time to up her game. Her "thing" had turned into something else entirely.

_**So that was dinner. I hope it lived up to expectations! Thanks for all the amazing comments so far; I love them as much as you seem to like the story, so keep the reviews coming. See you in two weeks! :) MC. xx**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Seduction and Deduction: Part Four**

Crap. Complete and utter crap. It was the only way to describe today's predicament. Recently things had been going incredibly well, so naturally it was time for her body to throw a colossal tantrum. Janine was being punished for letting her guard down. There was the notion that something was attempting to burrow out of her abdomen, for a start; not to mention the ever-present nausea and a general sensation of feeling shitty. She hated human biology and, at this precise moment, she hated the world.

Curled up on the sofa and wearing nothing but a cami top and thong, she was in a prime position to survey her fashionably Spartan apartment. Janine didn't want to do any surveying, of course; the stark white walls were hurting her eyes and she had started to severely object to the position of the wall art. However, she wasn't giving up her spot for anything. After throwing a sickie, Janine had flopped down onto the overstuffed cushions and not moved since. That was this morning. Having moved through the obligatory guilt-riddled period, her biggest movements had been to change the TV channel or to frown at the grey skies of London, and she was adamant that it would stay that way. It wasn't as if the world would explode if Janine refused to leave her flat. She wasn't important enough to be missed. Anyhow, what good was a PA if there was no one around to assist?

Her phone chimed, echoing from the recesses of the bedroom; text. It kept doing that. Normally Janine would have answered it immediately, but not today. If she was being forced to feel crap then she could live with keeping someone in suspense, particularly if that someone was her unpredictable other half. Illogical as it seemed, revenge could be the best medicine. Adjusting her position to prevent her arse from falling asleep, Janine realised that a tall figure was outlined in the frosted glass of her front door. She winced as the sound of the bell sliced through her eardrums. Whoever it was could clear off; today was her day off from being friendly.

Janine turned the volume up on the television and hid under her matted faux fur throw, willing the doorbell to shut up. Now she understood why _some people_ kept hiding theirs in the fridge; it was bloody annoying when you just wanted to be left alone and a relief when it finally stopped gnawing at her skull. Janine waited five minutes for the person to go away before venturing out of the warm darkness of the blanket, her head poking out like a dormouse who had discovered it was spring. She discovered that Sherlock was looming over her, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

'I didn't give you a key.'

'And I don't require one.' Sherlock shrugged his coat off, discarding it somewhere near Janine' feet; the buttons were cold and hard on her toes. In his sharp suit he looked for the entire world like he owned the place. For some reason this only served to add to Janine's general irritation with the universe.

'Why are you here?'

'You were not answering your phone; naturally I assumed that something was amiss.'

That was true up to a point. Janine had had the unwanted privilege of sitting in on a couple of Sherlock's appointments with clients; they were enlightening experiences if nothing else. In Sherlock's world, apparently the length of time that a person took to decline a phone call spoke psychological volumes. After one ring meant anger; two indicated deliberate avoidance of the caller. Three would suggest that the phone's owner couldn't be bothered and, if the phone rang out, apparently a crime was being committed. During the last twenty-four hours, Janine had subconsciously repeated the third option several times in addition to ignoring multiple texts. It wasn't that she couldn't be bothered to talk to him; more that she wanted to be alone. Any other man would probably get the message, but obviously normal rules didn't apply for Sherlock.

'So you decided to do a spot of housebreaking.' She didn't mean to sound so snappish. This was possibly the most caring thing that her socially-deprived boyfriend could manage. It was a shame that Janine wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.

'I was in the area.'

'Meaning that you're on a case. Well you've seen that I'm alive now, so go on and run back to it.'

'Actually, I would rather not.' Sherlock's response was surprisingly gentle. 'The work was so mind-numbingly facile that I decided I would rather be elsewhere.'

'Which also means that you don't have to be here. Leave me alone, Sherlock. I'm ill.'

'I can see that. I can also see that you are wearing a man's signet ring on an ill-fitting chain. In public you are always keen to keep up the assumption that you are not overly sentimental, so the fact that you are wearing it when you expected to be alone suggests that the object belonged to a significant male in your life. I feel entirely safe in the knowledge that the ring is not mine and frankly, in spite of your penchant for one-night stands, you are hardly the type to be unfaithful. I was naturally thorough in my research before asking you on a date. Your father's ring, then – well, it could be an uncle or a brother, but the way which you are now toying with it confirms its paternal value. Additionally, there is a rather distressed teddy bear emerging from behind your polyester throw. The blatant contrast between these two objects and your otherwise uncomfortably immaculate flat strongly indicates that your only motive today has been to amass a collection of childhood objects. Hence your condition is at least in part psychosomatic. Feeling homesick, are we? Glossing over the litter of confectionery and feminine hygiene wrappers as a plausible excuse for your erratic behaviour, the trail of sequentially abandoned clothing and the open email inbox implies that you were initially conflicted about not turning up for work today, yet called in sick at the last minute in favour of wallowing in vast self-pity. Did I get anything wrong?'

'I know how I bloody feel, you lunatic! I don't need you to tell me.'

The deduction was both unwarranted and unexpected. Janine didn't feel like being ripped apart and dissected right now. Boyfriend or not, she wasn't going to answer Sherlock's question. The details could wait until Janine stopped partially resenting his presence. She turned her attention away from him and back to the mass of colours which were dancing across her HD screen.

'And yet, Janine, here we are.' There was a note of humour rattling around in Sherlock's dulcet tones; apparently he found her present stand-offish attitude amusing.

She decided that her revenge would best aided via the use of a cushion. Sherlock sidestepped Janine's well-aimed throw. She sat up and glowered at him. Stalemate.

'Are you going to piss off and leave?' She huffed at him after a long pause.

'No.'

'Quit standing there like a hawk, then. You're blocking my view of the telly.'

'My posture is not remotely hawk-like.' Sherlock shot back, looking mildly affronted. Good. It made the most sadistic part of Janine feel better when she forced someone to share her frankly foul mood.

'Just shut up and sit down.'

Janine firmly patted the space next to her on the sofa; staring intently at the handprint until the cushion dared to return to its undented state. To her amazement, the detective obeyed without further comment. She shuffled to one side to accommodate Sherlock's wiry frame when he inevitably assumed a childlike cross-legged pose. It wasn't exactly cushy, yet in a way it was nice to think that Sherlock cared enough to refuse Janine's unusual demands for his absence. She was, after all, a social animal.

'What on Earth is this?' Sherlock piped up once he was settled. Janine glanced up, prodding his nose aside so that she could see what he was pointing at. It turned out to be the television.

'That's a TV.' She snorted, indulging in her own sarcasm. 'What's on it is some American bollocks about fairy tale characters who have been cursed to live in the top corner of the US.'

'Ludicrous.'

'Yeah, well it's either this or Thomas the Tank Engine. Get back to shutting up, Sherl.' Janine spoke into Sherlock's jacket, narrowly avoiding a mouthful of fabric. She could tell that he was rolling his eyes.

It was ten minutes before Sherlock spoke again. Normally Janine would have been impressed that he had lasted this long; however, she was concentrating on utilising Sherlock as a bony, oversized stuffed animal. It was like she was clinging to a fairground prize which unfortunately had a mind of its own, yet his presence was a mood-improver nonetheless.

'This programme makes no sense.' He began; Janine groaned inwardly. If Sherlock started vocally analysing any form of media, she might just have to kill him. 'Working on the precedent that a fantastical "curse" has been in place for twenty-eight years and has prevented any changes from occurring, theoretically its newfound absence should promote accelerated ageing over a decreased time period. And yet there is no evidence that the characters are maturing. They defy all scientific logic, giving evidence to my earlier idea that the entire concept is absurd.'

'Remind me never to even peep at Doctor Who with you around….' Janine mumbled. Sherlock either hadn't heard or was too fixated on his current musings to question her aside.

'And the villain's son is clearly the boy's father. An imbecile could not fail to notice the excruciating number of "fatherless child" inferences and the unholy amount of screen time which the son has been allocated. Evidently the producers believe their target audience to be overtly stupid.'

'Quit whinging, Sherlock. Unlike some people, I can't be arsed with mental acrobatics when I'm suffering.'

'You are not suffering; you are currently gripping me like a wayward koala. Between this discomfort and inflicting your poor taste in entertainment upon others, _I_ am the one who is suffering.'

'And for that I'm going to keep on hugging you.'

'My point is, Janine; if I must indulge you, can't we watch something which is intellectually stimulating?' Sherlock attempted to wriggle away from her, narrowly succeeding when Janine almost fell off the sofa. The sly bastard.

'Err…no. Mary told me that the only programmes that you can stand are the ones which prove that you're smarter than the rest of humanity. I'm not in the mood for you to edit the BBC.'

'It doesn't have to be the BBC.'

'Mary also told me that you hurled your television out the window last time you watched Jeremy Kyle. I like my telly where it is, thank you very much.' A thought suddenly occurred to Janine and it was one which, depending on the answer, was probably a game-changer. She looked up at Sherlock, curious. 'Speaking of Mary, you haven't told John about _us_, have you?'

'It's hardly been relevant to any of our conversations.' He sighed at Janine's furrowed brow; her unspoken push for a definitive answer. 'No; I have not. Is the situation likewise with Mary?'

'I haven't either. You're not exactly a prime catch, Sherl. I'm not saying anything until you meet my standards.'

'I would take offence at that statement but, given your current lethargy, I am more inclined to blame it on your hormones.'

'Oh, that's a bad move, Sherlock Holmes. Don't make me hurt you.'

'I'd like to see you try.' Sherlock purred into her ear. Janine giggled in spite of herself.

'So are we a secret then?' Janine snuggled back into Sherlock, trying to steal a couple of degrees of his body temperature. It was important that Sherlock answered this one, as mysterious as he was in other ways. The girl in her was excited by the idea of a secret tryst, but as a woman Janine knew that it was never a good thing for a man to hide a woman away from the world.

'A poorly kept one, but yes we are nonetheless.'

'Well given that your brother spies on you practically twenty-four-seven, neither of us has seen our best friend in days and you're now dropping out of cases just to find time to see me, I'd say that it isn't going to last very long, is it?'

Janine watched Sherlock's mouth upturn into a broad smile. This was it; the moment where he either tied her up and threw her in the boot of a car, or said something incredibly romantic. Ah well, this was what she got for abseiling down the rabbit hole.

'Let me revise my last observation; it is a poorly kept secret by _my_ standards. I highly suspect that Mycroft knows something of our dalliance; however as you have not been hauled away for questioning, he cannot spare the resources or is too embarrassed to admit it. John has never been the most perceptive of people and Mary is currently preoccupied with motherhood. I have only been neglecting minor cases in favour of you, having already supplied Lestrade with enough evidence from which to draw plausible conclusions. The details are minor, yet are there if you know where to look.'

And then it hit her. He had gone for romance; or about as close as Sherlock could get to the concept.

'You're just waiting for someone to ask?! And I thought that _I_ was the attention-whore in this relationship.'

'Allow me to prove you wrong.'

Janine suddenly found herself straddling Sherlock's lap, kissing him deeper than she had ever done previously in their short time together. It was quite civilised when compared against Janine's other experiences, but the mutual longing behind the kiss meant that she still found herself wishing that her body hadn't shut up shop for the next few days. Had she been in the mood for sex, what could have followed would have been amazing. Glancing downwards to the fabric of Sherlock's trousers, Janine felt a slight pang of guilt, even though there was a good chance that Sherlock was ignoring his own dilemma in favour of making a point. She leaned in closer without breaking for air, one hand snaking away from Sherlock's shoulder blade and towards his waistband. Janine's hand received a sharp slap for its trouble and was promptly moved aside.

She wasn't disappointed until Sherlock pulled away from her mouth; the feeling didn't last for long. A heartbeat later, having swept Janine's scruffy ponytail to one side, Sherlock was planting a series of tiny kisses upon her neck. And then Janine's back arched when he bit down; sucking hard. After enjoying the initial shock of pleasure, Janine decided that Sherlock's little point could be used as a teaser for when she was in a better mood. She slid from his lap and scrambled over to her full-length mirror to inspect the damage. Apart from her general unkemptness and lack of make-up, there was a large red mark beginning to creep into prominence near her collarbone.

'Sherlock, you idiot!' She prodded the mark gently as she turned to face him. It was about as flushed as her cheeks. 'You can't just break into my flat unannounced and give me a hickey!'

'Why not? Are you denying that you enjoyed it?' Sherlock was staring at her with his head cocked to one side, face equally rosy. He looked like a cat who had been caught eating the canary yet was still taking the time to pick the feathers out of his teeth.

'Well, no, but I've got a big meeting at work tomorrow.' It was hard not to pout as she slunk back towards the sofa. 'How the hell am I supposed to cover this up?'

'Let them talk. Gossip is a powerful tool in our world.'

And that was precisely why Janine was worried. On the one hand, her love stamp would spice conversations up in the staff canteen and Janine would once again become a legend in her own lunchtime; something which she had always perversely enjoyed. On the other, there were a lot of bigger fish at CAM who knew leverage when they saw it. Fortunately her boss – Daddy Fish with Big Teeth – was currently pissing around somewhere in Gloucestershire and the mark would have faded by the time he returned. Hopefully. It was this last titbit of information which forced Janine's inner girl to grow up into a proud, conflicted teenager.

'You know something, Sherl? You have this odd ability to make people feel both fabulous and shit at the same time.' Janine settled back into the cushions, taking advantage of a rarely relaxed Sherlock in a purely self-indulgent way; she pinged one of his curls. Unusually, he didn't object.

'So I have been told.'

'And another thing; hickeys are usually preceded by flowers.'

'I wasn't aware that was the case.'

'Obviously; luckily for you, I don't actually like flowers.' Janine stretched out across the length of the sofa, nudging Sherlock to the edge in the process. She smiled lazily when he stood up, every ounce of him looking puzzled. 'At this precise moment, what I actually like is paracetamol. A good boyfriend would go out and buy me what I want.'

'Forgive me if I am a little sceptical of your supposition. You might find some painkillers in my coat pocket.'

'And risk blacking out for three days? No way.'

'If you are referring to the compound which I gave to John, I have run out and therefore those tablets are unlikely to be anywhere in my coat.'

'I'm not chancing it when I have a major meeting tomorrow. There's a Boots round the corner. Go find me some Nurofen and a chocolate bar.'

Janine peered at Sherlock from behind the arm of the sofa, her grin widening just a fraction when he bent over to retrieve his fallen coat. Yes, his turning up here had been an unwelcome surprise. And yes, Janine was feeling mildly antisocial. However, Sherlock was proving himself and he was well on his way to meeting Janine's standards. It was just a matter of spending more time with him.

Oh, and another thing, she wasn't feeling ill anymore. Not that Sherlock needed to know that.

_**Apologies for the Once Upon A Time references; I'm going through a phase. Thanks for the many, many reviews so far and let me know your verdict on this chapter. Reviews are adored. :) MC. xx**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Seduction and Deduction: Part Five**

'What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?'

Janine stormed into the upstairs flat, soaking wet and furious. She swore when her lower thigh smacked sharply against the corner of the coffee table; a haphazard array of papers were sent flying. Janine didn't care. She had been summoned to the middle of town and then stood up. Ten minutes was enough to agitate a girl, but two hours' worth of standing around like a tit in the breeze was soul destroying. The fact that the guy who did the stringing along also happened to be her boyfriend was bloody taking the piss.

'Sherlock! Where are you? I know you're here – the place looks like a fucking cesspool!'

She moved swiftly through the flat, dodging glassware and scouring for her target. If Janine had wanted an afternoon full of people talking shit, she would have taken the empty promise of a pay-rise and put on that skimpy outfit to work as her boss's golf caddy for the rest of the day. As it was, she had principles and had held her resolve throughout a literally eye-watering twelve minute bribe; she had turned him down in favour of enjoying her burgeoning romance. So far, Janine's sacrifice hadn't been worth it. Just when she thought she had the Universe's least perfect ideal man housetrained, he went and pulled a stunt like this. He certainly wouldn't be getting away with it. When Janine decided that nobody was allow to fuck around with her, that statement included the likes of Sherlock Holmes.

The door to Sherlock's bedroom was open and Janine made a beeline for it, having caught sight of the occupant's foot. Aside from smelling like a teenaged boy's lair, the flat seemed eerily quiet. Her instincts screamed that something was wrong. Given that Janine had met her current squeeze whilst he was pre-empting a murder, it was entirely plausible that said foot belonged to a corpse. As it turned out, it wasn't a corpse; merely Sherlock lying fully clothed and face-down in the pillows. He was stirring, and definitely not dead. Relief intermingled with Janine's anger; their relationship notwithstanding, a lifetime of writing about other people's messes had taught her that it was a bad thing to be caught irate whilst standing next to a body. She rolled Sherlock onto his back. Death wouldn't have excused him, anyway. Sherlock's quasi-passed-out state caused him to seem slightly vampiric, albeit with a mild sheen of sweat running across his brow. This only served to piss Janine off further; she slapped him for it. His eyes immediately snapped open.

'Ah, _you_.' Sherlock mumbled when he noticed that Janine was glaring at him. 'I was wondering when you would show up, sniffing around like a little media whore.'

'I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that.' Janine replied. She wasn't denying anything, but the implications hurt coming from those lips.

'I am simply observing the evidence in front of me. Your concern for my wellbeing is almost outmatched by an ingrained desire not to be framed for murder. You are a concoction of ulterior motives, girlfriend mine – a lesser man might feel insulted.'

'Who said I was concerned? There's obviously nothing wrong with you, given that you're being a total arse.' She forced herself to soften her tone. Currently Janine's larynx was operating at a frequency only known to bats. It hadn't escaped her notice that Sherlock's speech was minutely slurred and his pupils happened to be fully constricted. Clearly something had happened which was very normal in Sherlock's world, but would disconcert the average Londoner. In her own way, Janine was worried; not that she'd let it on. 'Even so, you are going to tell me why you nose-dived onto your bed. Did you forget to feed yourself, or did some drug lord try to kill you again? Blacking out isn't normal, Sherl.'

Neither was forgetting to turn up to a date which you had made the first move for, except Janine could be tactful when she wanted to be. As unbelievably annoyed as she was, there was a time and a place for that sort of thing. Janine had just roused her unconscious boyfriend; she didn't have to work her gripes into the conversation quite yet.

'Don't belittle me, Janine. You are not my mother.'

'No, I'm the unlucky cow who happens to be your girlfriend. I want an answer.' She dropped her Labrador-sized designer handbag to drop to the floor, allowing its "thump" to emphasise her point.

'And yet I am not obliged to give you one.' Sherlock lurched into an uneasy sitting position, blinking heavily and avoiding direct eye contact with Janine. If that wasn't suspicious, she didn't know what was.

'Don't be a child. Seriously; _tell me_.' Janine sat down beside him, sinking into the sheets with a forced smile. She failed to catch Sherlock off-guard, missing him by a mile when she tried to draw him into a hug. 'You can't lie to me. I'm not your definition of "average" and you can't just start being an absolute shithead without telling –.'

Janine faltered. She had just caught sight of a badly concealed object in Sherlock's hand. She had also just noticed his crumpled and unbuttoned shirtsleeve – just the right-hand one – which was accompanied by a small nick in the crook of his elbow. Either this was Sherlock's way of telling her what he had been up to, or Janine had put two and two together to make six. Before Sherlock could react, she wrenched the object away from him out of disgusted curiosity. It turned out to be a glass syringe, of the kind which would be easily obtainable from Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. Her primary train of thought having been confirmed, all thoughts of being a remotely sympathetic girlfriend went out the window.

'Jesus! What on Earth?'

'Just breaking in old habits.'

It was hard to ignore Sherlock's defiance. He, like Janine, was never one to back off easily.

'You mean you've done this before? Oh, of course; it makes so much bloody sense.'

She was well versed in Sherlock's attitude towards stimulants; if it sped up his processing power, he typically wanted it. Janine had felt the sticky residue of a trail of nicotine patches upon his chest and paid attention to his starvation of everything but what was essential to keep him alive. It would also explain why Sherlock had consistently refused alcohol at dinner, because it slowed him down. Clearly today was no different. If legality wasn't a problem for him, why shouldn't Sherlock try something like this? Even so, she felt that a heads-up wouldn't have gone amiss; her time wouldn't have been wasted, for a start.

'I would suggest that you stop being predictable, Janine. If it is bothering you, leave.' Sherlock's tone was that of a petulant child, grating on Janine's nerves. She watched him fold his arms into a tight grip across his chest.

'I don't give a shit about the drugs, Sherlock; I care that you skipped out on me just to shoot up!' Janine hissed, shrinking away from his aggressive sulk.

Janine really didn't care that Sherlock was using. She would be a hypocrite if she did. University had been a literal cocktail of fun and Janine had felt obliged to partake in it throughout her late teens. She'd never gone near anything as hard as this; nevertheless her golden years of smoking marijuana and popping a few E was enough to wobble Janine's ethical superiority. And yet she still reserved the right to be hacked off; Janine had chosen the most introverted man possible as her tonsil-tennis partner and he was still finding new ways to rain on her parade. Sherlock had passed her up in favour of cocaine, or whatever combination this was. If people ever wondered why she didn't trust easily, this sort of thing just about summed it up. No woman in her right mind would be pleased with Sherlock at present.

'How is that relevant? I was bored and had the tools to provide a solution. It was a perfectly logical way to pass the time and our rendezvous would have been unaffected had I not lost consciousness.'

'Except you did pass out and left me standing in the middle of Leicester Square in the pouring rain. Besides, after weeks of seeing me do you really think that I wouldn't notice a comedown from a mile off?'

'There are plenty of indoor establishments within the West End area. The transparency of your blouse is hardly my fault.'

'Shut it. You have no idea what I had to do to get this afternoon off.' He probably did, although Janine was far from ready to go down that road with Sherlock. She didn't miss subtle observation about her top either, and covered the outline of her bra with her hands. He didn't deserve the view. 'If you were bored you should have grabbed a fag and called me.'

'I needed something stronger than a cigarette.' Sherlock shot back at her, rolling his eyes. Janine resisted the urge to slap him again. 'Precisely twelve percent stronger, in fact.'

'Give me one reason why I should stay.' She asked pointedly before sliding off the bed. If Janine left now, there was still a chance that her colossal failure of an afternoon could be rescued. She could quite happily leave Sherlock to drown in, well, whatever he was wallowing in.

'Would you believe me if I said this was for a case?'

'Normally, yes, although right now I'm too pissed off to care.' It was true; a large portion of Janine's thoughts were mainly occupied with self-restraint. Her hand was finding it extremely hard to avoid making abrupt contact with Sherlock's cheekbone again.

'Then you might as well leave. In fact, it is plain that, having outstayed your tolerance of remaining in this room, you have only offered an ultimatum because you are under the impression that you love me.'

'Sherlock, what the fu–?' Janine narrowly avoided swearing for what felt like the hundredth time as she watched Sherlock unfold his arms and relax, cross-legged, against the headboard. She cleared her throat before correcting herself. '_Excuse me_?'

'Oh, I think I made myself quite clear. Dilated pupils, the subconscious unbuttoning of your shirt and the slight pout to your lips are all relatively straightforward signs of attraction, yet this clearly goes beyond the chemistry of lust as I estimate that your sexual appetite is currently somewhat muted. Secondly, your conversation has been erratic from the moment you arrived; all the more so since your "discovery" which, whilst we are on the subject, was not a revelation because I have never made any attempt to conceal my habits from you. However, clearly you have a lax attitude towards drugs given your personal history; hence your anger sinks deeper than concern for my personal wellbeing. During our short time together, all of our encounters have been instigated by you on various levels; this was the first occasion on which I have invited you on a formal date, and you instantly dropped everything in spite of a marked lack of details. One might assume that because I have not made myself easily obtainable, you had seen my text message and instantly assumed that this was "your lucky day", having given up on easy gratification long ago. Nevertheless, a woman of your experience and character is unlikely to go unprepared for such an opportunity. Judging by your immediate discomfort with regards to my last insinuation, there is no change of underwear in your handbag today. Therefore you did not agree to meet with me solely on the assumed promise of sex, or no longer care what others think of you. I'd favour the former. Love; considerately sweet, but ultimately futile.'

Janine paused for half a beat. She was confused, however the longer she left her response, the worse she would suffer in the long run. In their heated silence, she could almost hear the cogs of Sherlock's brain turning; calculating. Janine wasn't in the mood for digging deep. Where the fuck had he dragged that up from?

'Lovely to see that you haven't got brain damage, Sherlock, but as of this moment I don't want to help you re-inflate your ego.' Janine snatched up her handbag and hugged it defensively. The bag's decorative spikes dug into her chest, providing a comforting distraction from her muddled emotions. She couldn't let him know that he'd got to her. Weakness was the destroyer of reputations, and Janine would be damned if she lost hers.

'You are upset that I worked it out before you did. I cannot imagine why. Would you like to know if I feel the same?' Sherlock's enquiry hung in the air as his head lolled back, giving Janine the distinct impression that he was weighing up her every conceivable response for his own amusement. Meanwhile, a frighteningly reptilian grin had crept across his face.

This time, Janine did slap him. Hard. Sherlock didn't even flinch.

'We are _not_ having this discussion whilst you're high.' She snarled back. 'Hell, we're not having this discussion at all!'

'Then clearly you have served your purpose.'

Well, that was cold; Sherlock had made her sound like an experiment. After thirty-seven days' worth of breaking down barriers on both sides, Janine had at least expected him to be tepid. It was decision time, and for once the situation between them was clear-cut. There was a large bottle of wine sitting in her fridge and Janine intended to make use of all of it. She would drown out the selfish, narcissistic, reckless bastard. Sherlock could come crawling on his knees for all she cared. Nobody used her feelings against her. And now that she knew the way that things were going, Janine was thankful that she had kept her shoes on. It would make storming out a million times easier.

'Go fuck yourself, Sherl. And don't bother calling.' She left him lounging there and stomped out of the room, quickly manoeuvring through the kitchen. Janine created as much noise as physically possible, and even managed to knock over a chair or two. Good; maybe this way Sherlock would get it into his thick, superhuman skull that he'd actually done about sixty things wrong. He could use the lesson how he wished, but Janine wanted no part of it. She didn't need him. She was done here.

'Why would I call?' It was a valid point, although not one which Janine wanted to listen to. Sherlock's voice continued to echo while she scuttled down the staircase. 'Enjoy the wine.'

She wouldn't cry; lesser people cried. Janine would only bounce back, as per usual. She would get royally drunk, go into work with a slight hangover and pretend that she had never met Sherlock Holmes. Magnussen would have no additional ammunition to use against her, and all would be right in the world. Janine simply needed to keep telling herself that she didn't care. The problem was that she did and, moreover, everything that Sherlock had said was true. She slammed the weathered door of 221B Baker Street, not knowing if she would ever set foot in the building again. It was this sense of finality which stung the most.

_**So, what do you think of the angst? I thought that Sherlock was being too nice during the last chapter, so it was time to bring things back onto his terms. You can safely say that this isn't over though! Reviews are adored. :) MC. xx**_


	6. Interlude

**Seduction and Deduction: Interlude**

_Come to Baker Street. Now. SH._

Piss off. J.

_Come to Baker Street. Your behaviour is completely illogical. SH._

MY behaviour - that's bloody rich! And no, I don't want to see you again. You blew it. J.

_You're angry. SH._

No shit, Sherlock. J.

_This, in addition to lack of change in your social network relationship status, implies that you are conflicted and incapable of making a valid decision. Once again, my hypothesis regarding emotions has proven correct. SH._

I am one phone call away from dragging your name through the mud. Leave. Me. Alone. J.

_Except that you won't. SH._

Don't test me, Sherl. J.

_If you were intent upon destroying my reputation, you would have acted by now. You are still coming to terms with the fact that you love me. Ergo, you do not want to be left alone and I WILL see you again. Now, Baker Street? SH._

_Janine? SH._

* * *

_Sorry. SH._

Excuse me? J.

_You read correctly. I am not completely above humility. SH._

What for? For standing me up, the drugs, or basically calling me a slut? J.

_None of the above. SH._

You waited a week to tell me that?! Don't bother. J.

_I will not stoop to defend my actions. My remark about your ulterior motives applies to others; I include myself in this majority. I will concede, however, that I exposed an unnecessary weakness. SH._

Fuck off. J.

And another thing – drop the initials. Christ knows I know who you are. J.

_And yet you continue to mirror my actions…_

Leave the sarcasm alone, Sherl. One; it doesn't work via text. And two; it really doesn't look good on you.

_My point has been proven nonetheless._

You have about twenty seconds of my attention left. I'd suggest that you call me if you want to maintain it.

_I am respecting your desire for me to maintain my distance. John is also in the room. Via text, I am both minimising the chances of our conversation being overheard and the risk of gaining a perforated eardrum._

So send John away. I am NOT going to scream at you – I'd be wasting my breath anyway.

_It would be highly inappropriate to speak with you at present. The room in question is a crime scene._

You're trying to win me back whilst playing with a corpse?

_In a manner of speaking, yes._

Charming. I suppose that's what I get for fiddling around with Sherlock Holmes.

_Indeed; I am multitasking. Shall we guide our conversation back to its original purpose? _

Whatever. I can't guarantee that I'll pay attention.

_What I am attempting to say, Janine, is that the state in which you found me was purely for a case. I trust that you have now regained rational thought processes and can see that this was feasible._

I might do, except that I told you that I didn't care about the drugs.

_I had acquired almost all the essential information in order to meet my client's specifications, yet the case was and still remains a taxing one. Evaluating the dangers, there were two choices ahead; draw you close, or push you away. Both would ensure your protection, hence a scenario was established to allow the outcome to be dictated by yourself. You chose the latter. It was all perfectly scientific._

If I didn't know you any better I'd say that was quite chivalrous, not to mention sweet. I'm a big girl, Sherlock. I don't need your protection.

_Which doesn't mean that I do not want to give you it._

I suppose I should thank you.

_You won't. _

Damn right I won't. Whatever you think you did for me, you're still a bastard.

How's the corpse?

_Extremely dead. A straightforward open and shut suicide. Lestrade is getting lazy._

Maybe he just likes being around you. I can't imagine why.

_Given that we are still corresponding, I can only presume that the Detective Inspector is not the only one who requires my presence in their life._

I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

_Dinner?_

I can't. I've got a date tonight.

_Why? _

Because I want to. He's good-looking and not a professional arsehole.

_Vengeance doesn't suit you, Janine._

I know, but this isn't revenge; I could do a lot worse to you than see someone else. Don't think that you're forgiven, Mister. J. x

* * *

_How was your date? SH._

Fine, thank you.

_You are lying. SH._

You're jealous.

_If I were, was that not the precise point of the occasion? SH._

I told you – petty revenge is beneath me.

_You are still lying. SH. _

And you are still initialling when I told you to stop.

_It bothers you; hence I shall continue to do so. I believe that they call this a stalemate. SH._

_Also, Janine, you are looking particularly gorgeous today. SH._

Either you are stalking me, or this is your version of sexting.

_It was merely a logical supposition. You always appear impeccable. SH._

_However, should you desire to prove me right, we may as well meet to discuss my, ah, miscalculations. SH._

I still don't forgive you.

_And I don't require forgiveness. The situation suits us both. Are you amenable? SH._

Maybe. xx

_Tonight. Thanh Binh, Camden Lock. 8PM. Don't be late. SH._

_**Here's a little interlude, purely because I'm so amazed and grateful for the amount of positive attention this story is receiving. Thank you so much! Don't get too used to this though; the next update will most definitely be appearing online in around two weeks' time. Reviews are still adored. :) MC. xx**_


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